


it's just fire alarms and losing you

by gothfob



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Depression, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Kissing, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Porn with Feelings, Soul Punk Era Patrick Stump, a couple andy mentions, and offscreen trohley, patrick is a solo artist, pete has to save his mans, pete is a firefighter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 23:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20182192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothfob/pseuds/gothfob
Summary: If you had asked Pete what he wanted to do with his life when he was a teenager, he would’ve told you he wanted to be in a band. He was, for a while.But his parents thought it wasn’t a viable career with a steady income. Pete enjoyed it while it lasted. But he eventually had to admit defeat. Despite his passion for words, he wasn’t a great bass player. He was an even worse singer, and his screaming was deemed incomprehensible and grating.So Pete had to find a new dream. As he got older, he realized he really loved helping people. He wanted to save lives, but he couldn’t see himself being a police officer or a doctor. So he went for the next best thing: a firefighter. His friends said he was either just crazy or downright stupid. It was a risky job. But it felt like Pete’s second calling. Besides, he had a habit of being reckless with his own life anyway.He might as well do something important. Make himself useful. Have a real purpose in a world he thought he could never belong in. He’s become such a strange shape from trying to fit in. He’s sick of pretending to be someone he’s not.Or the one where Pete's a firefighter and he happens to be Patrick's knight in shining armor.





	it's just fire alarms and losing you

If you had asked Pete what he wanted to do with his life when he was a teenager, he would’ve told you he wanted to be in a band. He was, for a while.

But his parents thought it wasn’t a viable career with a steady income. Pete enjoyed it while it lasted. But he eventually had to admit defeat. Despite his passion for words, he wasn’t a great bass player. He was an even worse singer, and his screaming was deemed incomprehensible and grating. 

So Pete had to find a new dream. As he got older, he realized he really loved helping people. He wanted to save lives, but he couldn’t see himself being a police officer or a doctor. So he went for the next best thing: a firefighter. His friends said he was either just crazy or downright stupid. It was a risky job. But it felt like Pete’s second calling. Besides, he had a habit of being reckless with his own life anyway. 

He might as well do something important. Make himself useful. Have a real purpose in a world he thought he could never belong in. He’s become such a strange shape from trying to fit in. He’s sick of pretending to be someone he’s not. 

The training is grueling. Pete comes home every night sore and exhausted. But he’s happy. He thinks it’s worth it. He didn’t realize how much work it takes to be fit enough to save lives. It’s a lot of exercising and eating more. Pete becomes less scrawny and more muscle bound. He can’t really complain about that, though. 

Pete shares an apartment with his best friend from college, Patrick. 

Patrick just so happens to be a musician with more talent in his pinky finger than Pete could ever hope to possess in his whole body. Pete used to be jealous, but now he’s made it his life’s mission to get everyone to think Patrick is as amazing as he does. Pete stands by the fact that Patrick has a voice like an angel. 

Pete tried to get Patrick to join his band back in the day. Patrick never said yes, but Pete’s pretty sure that’s because he couldn’t seem to keep a band for more than a week.

Pete had this habit of starting projects with people and never finishing them when he found something better. So Patrick probably thought he wasn’t serious, no matter how much he pleaded. 

But Patrick would sing snippets of Pete’s songs at night, back when Pete had incessant nightmares. It always made Pete smile, hearing Patrick sing his words back to him. It lulled him to sleep, surrounded by the comforting serenade that was Patrick’s voice. 

Sometimes Pete thinks about the what-ifs and never-knows. Sometimes they plague him, haunt him with every step he takes. They weigh him down, making his heart heavy in his chest. But there’s no use dwelling on the past, is there?

Patrick is a solo act these days. He’s happy being a musician all on his own. And Pete’s happy saving lives from burning buildings. He swears to god he is. Or at least he’s the closest to happy he can ever remember being. 

Maybe he feels a little morose lately, but that’s neither here nor there. He hasn’t seen Patrick much in the past few months. He’s always off playing gigs in local clubs and bars, saving money for studio time.

When he’s not doing that, he’s bringing home a parade of random guys through their door night after night. 

Pete tries to grin and bear it, but the more it happens, the worse he feels. The harder it is to bite his tongue and not say anything. Patrick is his best friend. He will never be anything more than that.

Pete needs to accept this fact, but it gets more difficult with every time he hears Patrick getting fucked by someone else. 

Pete wonders what those boys have that he doesn’t. Granted, he shouldn’t be jealous of a string of one night stands, because that’s all they are. Pete lives with Patrick. He gets a lifetime with Patrick.

Even if it’s just as friends, he knows Patrick cares about him. Even if he isn’t acting like it recently. If he can look past his own anger and jealousy, he can see that Patrick is struggling through something. 

He’s lost weight, bleached his hair, and changed his entire wardrobe. He’s come home drunk and with a boy in his arms nearly every night this week. Pete looks at this version of Patrick and barely recognizes him.

Maybe it’s time he stops holding his tongue and ask Patrick what’s wrong. He wants to help him, after all. He doesn’t want Patrick to be upset. It’s been so long since he’s seen that sunshine smile. He misses it. He misses Patrick.

These are all things that Pete should not be pondering at work. But it’s a slow day, and he’s sitting in the little kitchenette of the fire station with a cup of coffee that’s gone cold between his palms.

He has all his gear on, just in case. It’s part of the protocol, and all that jazz. Pete stands up and walks over to the sink to pour his leftover coffee down the drain. He stares down at the empty cup numbly. 

Pete leaves the cup on the counter and goes to open the fridge in search of something he thinks he can stomach for lunch.

He sees the veggie wrap he didn’t get the chance to finish yesterday, and pulls out the leftover half to eat. He’s trying to eat healthier, less meat and more vegetables. Luckily, good seasoning can save anything.

Pete shoves the veggie wrap into his mouth and finishes it in four large bites. Pete is wiping the crumbs off his lap when he’s startled by his co-worker’s hand on his shoulder. 

Pete looks up and only sees their torso. He cranes his head further back and looks up more. Gabe. 

“Hey, Petey. You alright?” Gabe asks, like the good friend that he is. He might be annoying, sometimes, but he makes up for it with his compassion. 

“Not really. But life goes on.” Pete shrugs. He isn’t giving Gabe much to work with, but he’s really not in the mood to talk about Patrick or all the things that could’ve been. 

Gabe sits down across from him and looks at him grimly. 

“Okay. You don’t wanna talk to me now. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Gabe says, reaching across the island to ruffle Pete’s hair affectionately. 

“Yeah. I do. Thanks.” Pete nods, trying to offer Gabe a semblance of a smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“That’s what friends are for, querido. No need to thank me.” Gabe laughs, and then he’s gone in gust of wind. 

Pete stares dejectedly down at the floor tiles and tries to figure out where he went wrong in life that lead him to this exact moment. 

His pity party is interrupted by the sound of the fire alarms wailing. It means they’ve got work to do. Pete is grateful for the distraction, jumping to his feet and running out to the garage where they have all their equipment and the firetruck itself. 

He didn’t hear the initial call, so he has no idea where they’re going. He grabs his stuff and secures his helmet to protect his face and lungs from smoke inhalation. 

He hops into one of the three trucks in the garage, and he turns to one of his co-workers to ask what’s going on. 

“Where are we going? How bad is it?” Pete asks. Mikey looks at him like something grave has happened. Like someone he loves is already dead.

“It’s your apartment. It’s on fire.” Mikey says it slowly, like Pete doesn’t understand English. Pete gapes at him, stunned. 

“Is Patrick there?” Pete shrieks. Because he doesn’t know, and he absolutely needs to know if Patrick is safe. Mikey frowns, giving Pete a sympathetic look. That’s all the answer Pete needs, and then his instincts kick in.

“What are we waiting for? Jesus fucking Christ, start the truck! Let’s go!” Pete yells. He’s furious. He didn’t think this day could get any worse, and now he’s scared shitless.

He’s going to lose every good thing he’s ever had. It’s all in that tiny little apartment. It’s fire alarms and losing Patrick. It makes his stomach clench, threatening to bring his lunch back up his throat. 

Mikey starts the truck and backs out of the garage and out into the street. Pete flicks on the sirens and tells Mikey to step on it. Mikey listens, without sarcastic comment. Pete thinks he’s pretty terrifying when he’s angry and scared. 

They reach Pete’s apartment building in record time. Pete is jumping down from the truck and slamming the door behind him. 

Pete looks up, his chest heaving with how fast his breaths are coming in the onslaught of adrenaline and panic. The entire building is engulfed in flames. Gabe gets out of one of the other firetrucks and runs up to him.

“Fucking hell. I’m so sorry, Pete. We’re gonna get him out of there, okay? He’s gonna be just fine. We can’t go through the door though. We’ll have to get in through the window and try to find him. Worry about putting the fire out after he’s safe.” Gabe babbles anxiously. It isn’t exactly reassuring, but it’s all Pete needs. 

“Get the hoses ready. I’m gonna save him.” Pete states this firmly, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. Gabe vehemently disagrees with this course of action.

“Pete, you could get yourself killed!” Gabe yells after him. Pete keeps running, until his lungs are burning, his heart is burning, his body is on fire and he feels like the smoke is going through him, curling around him. 

“What am I supposed to do, let him die?” Pete shouts back, and then he’s too far away to hear Gabe’s reply.

He’s climbing the fire escape, his limbs flailing for a good grip so he doesn’t plummet to the pavement. The blood is pounding in his ears, his body tense with fear, but he can’t stop moving. He can’t think this through. He can’t wait. He has to find Patrick. He has to save him. 

Pete finally reaches their third story window, and luckily Pete left it open just a crack. He shoves the window up so hard the glass rattles in the pane.

Pete crawls through it and lands in his bedroom. His door is closed, his things untouched by the flames. He can’t bring himself to care all that much about it right now. 

Pete stands up and runs towards the door. He’s got his gloves on, but he can feel how hot the door knob is through them. Pete takes a deep breath and opens the door. He’s greeted with thick, gray smoke and the flames licking ever closer at the end of the hallway. Patrick’s room is right next to it. 

Pete sprints to Patrick’s door, heavily charred. Pete shoves the door open with his shoulder, and he’s greeted with Patrick’s entire room engulfed in flames.

The fire seems to have started here. Fuck. Pete doesn’t step into the room, but he does crouch down to see if Patrick is anywhere in sight. He’s not. Pete can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. 

Pete runs out of Patrick’s room and heads towards the kitchen. Pete comes to a halt, his heart in his throat. The flames have moved from the hallway into the kitchen, devouring their wooden kitchen table. Patrick is huddled in the corner of the room, curled up in a ball and trembling. 

Pete practically launches himself at Patrick, kneeling down to hold Patrick’s face in his hands and check that he’s actually alive. Patrick blinks at him, tears running down his cheeks. 

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m gonna get you out of here. Can you walk?” Pete asks, rubbing away the moisture on Patrick’s cheeks. Patrick shakes his head, seemingly unable to speak.

Pete realizes he has his inhaler clutched tightly in his hand. Shit. He forgot Patrick has asthma. He needs to get them out of this apartment now, before Patrick can’t breathe. 

“I’m gonna carry you to the window, and then I’ll help you down the fire escape.” Pete tells him, picking Patrick up bridal style.

Pete holds Patrick tightly to his chest and runs through the hallway, the fire licking at his heels. Pete makes it through his bedroom and then helps Patrick out the window first, onto the relative safety of the fire escape. 

Pete follows him out, and then he turns to his crew down on the ground to give them a thumbs up. He’s got this. He can get Patrick to the pavement safely. It’s his goddamn job, after all.

But more importantly, Patrick is his person. He can never let anything bad happen to him. Pete tells Patrick to hold onto him and don’t let go. Patrick obeys, wrapping his arms around Pete’s neck and his legs around his waist. 

Pete keeps one hand on Patrick’s back, supporting him as he climbs down to the street. Pete makes it all the way there without dropping Patrick or twisting his ankle. He considers this a miracle.

Gabe, Mikey, and the rest of the firefighters approach them. Patrick won’t let go of him. Pete can’t say he minds it, but Patrick is going to need to get in the ambulance to go to the hospital sooner rather than later. 

“Holy fuck.” Mikey says, eloquently. Pete, despite himself, laughs hysterically. His body is filled with bone deep relief. Gabe looks at him, impressed. 

“Goddamn it, Wentz. You’re a real life hero, aren’t you?” Gabe smiles. 

“When it counts.” Pete shrugs, trying to brush off the compliment.

“Anyways, you guys should start trying to put the fire out, before it spreads any further.” Pete says, looking around to see all the other people they managed to save from the burning building. There’s even a few cats and dogs. All in a day’s work. 

“No shit, Sherlock.” Mikey retorts. Pete knew he liked him for a reason. 

“I’m gonna ride with Patrick to the hospital.” Pete says, rubbing a soothing hand between Patrick’s shoulder blades. 

“Take your time.” Gabe says, his face softening at the way Patrick clings to Pete. 

Pete bids them both goodbye, and then he carries Patrick over to the paramedics. Pete sets him down on the gurney, where they promptly check his eyes and his throat. 

“He definitely inhaled some smoke, but it doesn’t look too bad. No soot in his throat, which is a good sign. It’ll probably be sore for a couple of days, so it might hurt for him to talk. We’ll take him to the hospital for observation, just in case.” The paramedic with the kind eyes tells him. 

Pete climbs into the back of the ambulance with them and asks a million anxious questions.

“He has asthma, though. Wouldn’t that make smoke inhalation more dangerous? Are you sure he isn’t going to die?” Pete blurts out. His hands are still shaking. 

“It can. But he did have his inhaler on him, which helped a lot. But he has the oxygen mask for a while, that should make him rest a little easier.” The woman reassures him.

Pete nods, and tries to stop being overbearing. He jiggles his leg the whole way to the hospital, and when they get there he checks Patrick in and follows him to his room. 

They give Patrick IV fluids, because he’s a little dehydrated. Pete sits by his bedside and holds his hand. Patrick sleeps for a few hours, exhausted from the day’s events. Pete is too nervous to sleep, filled to the brim with conflicting emotions. 

Joe shows up just before visiting hours are over. 

“I come bearing gifts!” Joe announces, a little too loudly. Pete stands up and shushes him. But then he reaches out and pulls Joe into a hug. Pete needs comfort, too. 

“What’d you bring?” Pete asks, his face mashed against Joe’s neck. Joe chuckles, patting his back before pulling away and holding out a bag. 

“Chinese. Patrick’s favorite. I thought he’d like it when he wakes up.” Joe smiles. He pulls up the free chair close to Patrick’s bed and starts getting out takeout boxes. 

“Joseph Trohman, you are a saint.” Pete tells him this with feeling. 

“I know.” Joe deadpans. Joe hands him his food and a fork. Pete could kiss him. He’s starving. Pete shoves it into his mouth while Joe gives him a knowing look, nibbling on an egg roll. 

“What?” Pete asks, mouth full. 

“Nothing.” Joe sighs. “I’m glad Patrick is okay. He’s my friend too. But you’re in love with him, and he doesn’t even know. I guess I’m just hoping this shared trauma will bring you closer together. Start a conversation, possibly.” Joe says this meekly, avoiding Pete’s gaze. 

“Joe.” Pete drops his fork, his tone gravely serious. “That’s not funny. He doesn’t feel that way about me. It’d be humiliating.” Pete huffs. 

“Bullshit.” Joe says, looking down at his egg roll like it’s personally offended him. “You’re both idiots, I swear to god. Don’t make me call Andy over here.” 

“You wouldn’t.” Pete says. It’s a dick move, and Joe knows it. He’s better than that, or so Pete thought.

“I will if I have to.” Joe crosses his arms across his chest and stares Pete down defiantly. 

“Fine. Don’t sick your fucking boyfriend on me. Have mercy on my soul. I’ve had a rough day, okay? But I’ll tell him if it will keep Andy from interrogating me and _ you _ from jumping down my throat.” Pete agrees hastily. Joe looks far too pleased about it. 

They eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and then Patrick seems to smell the food in the air, because his face crinkles up sweetly and then he blinks his baby blue eyes open. Pete’s chest instantly floods with adoration and relief. 

“Can I have some water?” Patrick croaks, polite as ever. Pete laughs, and picks up the cup of water from the food tray and brings the straw up to Patrick’s lips. Patrick takes a few big gulps, and then he sees Joe and the food in front of them. 

“Did you get my favorite food? Aw, Joe, you really shouldn’t have.” Patrick says, and then winces. “My throat hurts like a bitch.” He complains. 

“It’s no trouble.” Joe shrugs, smiling at Patrick. He pushes the food towards him and gives him a fork. “I should get going, actually. Visiting hours are over. I’ll leave you to it.” Joe says, leaning over to envelope Patrick in a hug, and then he winks at Pete and he’s gone.

The door swishes behind him. Bastard. Pete can’t believe he actually agreed to do this. 

He won’t lie, he’s considered telling Patrick how he feels a thousand times over. But he always thought it was a bad idea, and it wasn’t worth ruining their friendship over.

Pete doesn’t have much to lose, now. Patrick could’ve died today, and the grief Pete feels at the prospect grips his throat and suffocates him. If he doesn’t tell Patrick now, will he ever get the chance to? He needs to shoot his shot while he still has it. He can’t let Patrick die someday without knowing how much Pete loves him. 

Pete is trying to work up the courage for his declaration, though. He starts somewhere simpler.

“What happened?” Pete asks, twining his fingers with Patrick’s free hand again. He can’t stand to not be touching him after today. Pete is constantly trying to reassure himself that Patrick is warm and alive and right here next to him. 

“Honestly, it’s so fucking stupid.” Patrick groans around a mouthful of rice. 

“No it’s not. Please tell me how this happened.” Pete says, gently. He squeezes Patrick’s hand reassuringly. 

“I lit a candle in my room, like I always do. But I must’ve left it too close to the curtains, because I fell asleep and when I woke up the smoke alarm was blaring and the curtains were on fire, and then I couldn’t find my phone.

“Then everything was on fire. Eventually, I managed to find my phone in the kitchen and call 911. You know the rest.” Patrick whispers, looking like he’s on the verge of tears again. He seems frustrated with himself. 

“That isn’t stupid. It could happen to anyone, Patrick. Don’t blame yourself. I’m just glad you’re alright.” Pete says fiercely. 

“I’m alright because you saved me. God, Pete. You could’ve got yourself killed.” Patrick seems even angrier about this prospect. 

“Yeah. But it’s my job, and you’re _ my _Patrick. It was worth it. You’ll always be worth it.” Pete is the most sincere he has ever been. Patrick brings out the best in him, he thinks. 

“I’m really not.” Patrick laughs, hollow and devoid of any happiness. Pete frowns at him.

“Don’t say that. I’ve been...worried about you lately. Even before today. Have you been depressed?” Pete asks the question bluntly, because he has no other state of being. 

“Depressed feels like an understatement.” Patrick sighs, pushing the food away from himself. 

“Why?” Pete coaxes. 

“I feel like I’m a failure. I’m 27 years old and I haven’t had my big break. My music isn’t taking me anywhere. I’m barely scraping by. I’m a tortured artist at best.

“I thought maybe if I put everything I had into it, changed my style and my body, that people would care more about my music. I was wrong. No matter what I do, I feel like I’ll never amount to anything.” Patrick admits, his voice breaking with emotion. 

“That’s not true. You’re so fucking talented, Patrick. I’m not the only one who knows that. And you don’t need to be someone you aren’t to get people to come to your shows or buy your music. You’re good enough exactly the way you are.” Pete slides a hand up Patrick’s jaw and cups his face, trying to make sure that Patrick can tell how much he means what he’s saying. 

“No. I’m mediocre. And nobody wants to hear a fat guy sing shitty lyrics who sounds like a MJ copycat and dances terribly.” Patrick spits the words out like they’re venom.

They make Pete flinch, the ferocity of the amount Patrick seems determined to hate himself. Pete relates to it. He knows what it’s like to hate yourself. He isn’t as bad as he used to be, but he still has a lot to learn about self-love and compassion. It breaks his heart to see Patrick tear himself apart. 

“Please stop,” Pete begs. “It’s not true. None of that is true. What can I do to prove it to you?” 

“Nothing.” Patrick shrugs, trying to pull away from Pete. 

“I have to tell you something important.” Pete starts, bracing himself. Patrick doesn’t say anything, just looks at him imploringly.

“You almost died today. I already felt like I was losing my fucking mind, and I felt like you were pulling away from me, like you didn’t want to be around me anymore. Then suddenly I was losing you, for real. You have saved me so many times, Patrick. I had to save you too. But I am incredibly, irretrievably, hopelessly in love with you. I always have been.” Pete feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest, but he’s so anxious about Patrick’s response that he’s still trembling. 

Patrick stares at him, stunned into silence for a moment. 

“I’m sorry. What?” Patrick chokes out, looking immensely confused. 

Pete nods, and then he holds his breath and waits for it to sink in. 

“You aren’t joking with me, are you? Because that would be really fucking cruel, especially after I nearly burned to death.” Patrick says, his eyes wide with disbelief. 

“It’s not a joke. I could never joke about something like this. It’s too important to me.” Pete’s voice quivers. 

“You’ve been in love with me this whole time.” Patrick states this, because it happens to be a fact. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Patrick shoves him in the shoulder. He seems a little angry. 

“I didn’t think you could ever feel the same way about me. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. I didn’t want you to have to move out. I didn’t want to deal with the pain of rejection.” Pete says it blithely, like it doesn’t matter. He says it like Patrick won’t understand. 

“I get it. I just wish you had summoned up the courage to tell me this _ before _ I had a near death experience, you know?” Patrick replies, his eyes shining with mirth. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” Pete deflates. Patrick still hasn’t answered the million dollar question. 

“It’s okay. I’m in love with you, too.” Patrick admits it casually, like he’s talking about the weather. Pete freezes, mind racing, heart pounding. 

“Oh, thank God.” Pete exhales, a beaming smile breaking out across his face. Patrick smiles back at him just as brightly, for the first time in months. Pete has a compulsion to kiss him, he can’t help it. He’s always wanted to kiss Patrick, and now he finally can. 

Pete leans forward until their foreheads touch, until their noses brush. He can feel Patrick’s breath on his lips. 

“Say it again.” Patrick pleads. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” Pete chants it like a prayer, and then he’s kissing Patrick’s perfect mouth.

It’s a kiss that tastes like sunshine and heat. Like a summer day. Pete is enchanted by the way they fit together. Pete grips Patrick’s face and kisses him harder, traces Patrick’s teeth with his tongue. 

After a few minutes, they both pull back to catch their breath. 

“I could get used to that.” Patrick murmurs, his eyes crinkling with his smile. Pete goes cross eyed just trying to take it all in. Patrick’s face is flushed, his bangs falling in his eyes. He’s a vision, even in a hospital gown. 

“Me, too.” Pete says this into Patrick’s mouth, and he captures Patrick’s laugh, his hand on his chest. His life is already so much more than he thought it could ever be. 

xxx

A week later, they find themselves moving into a new apartment together with what’s left of their belongings. Most of which they’ll have to replace. Patrick is whining about how most of his record collection was melted. Pete plans on repurchasing all of them, but it’s a surprise. 

The biggest adjustment is them sharing a bedroom. Pete and Patrick are in the middle of the most exhausting, annoying job of all when it comes to moving. They have to build their own bed frame, set up the headboard, and then unwrap their new mattress and put the pillows and sheets and comforter on. 

They’re almost done, but Pete’s sweating profusely and can’t wait to be finished. Pete helps Patrick get the headboard in place, and then he helps put the mattress on the new bed frame.

After that, Pete deems it good enough to take a break. He collapses back onto the bare mattress and heaves a sigh of relief. 

Patrick stands by the foot of the bed, looking down at Pete disapprovingly. He’s got his hands on his hips, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration. 

“We still need to make the bed.” Patrick huffs, but he shoves Pete over until he can lay down beside him. 

“Yeah, yeah. We will, but I want a break first.” Pete grumbles, waving off Patrick’s concern. 

“Fine. You’re right. God, moving is the worst.” Patrick groans, scooting closer until he can put his head on Pete’s chest. 

“Tell me about it. We still have boxes to unpack after this.” Pete sighs, placing a kiss on the crown of Patrick’s head. Patrick turns to look up at him, placing his chin on Pete’s sternum. 

“I vote we have sex, take a shower, and then make the bed so we can take a nap. Unpack the boxes later.” Patrick says, his eyes sparkling mischievously. Pete grins down at him. 

“I’m in. You have the _ best _ideas. I knew I fell in love with you for a reason.” Pete laughs, and Patrick straddles his hips and leans down to kiss him senseless. 

“You should take off your shirt.” Patrick goads him, pulling down the neckline of his tank top to suck a mark into his collarbone. Pete gasps, arching into the touch. 

Pete raises his arms so Patrick can pull the tank top over his head and throw it across the room. 

“I show you mine and you’ll show me yours?” Pete teases. Patrick pulls back to glare at him, but he starts unbuttoning his shirt, so Pete considers it a win.

Patrick also takes off his jeans, sliding the zip down and kicking them off his ankles. His boxers are black and incredibly tight. They don’t leave much to the imagination. It’s making Pete’s mouth water. 

Patrick reaches for the waistband of his sweats and pulls them down and off. Pete isn’t wearing underwear, which he does a little more than he’d like to admit. Therefore, his dick pops out and settles against his belly, standing at attention and dripping pre-come. 

“Well, hello there.” Patrick says, a startled smile on his face. Pete should probably be offended that Patrick is talking to his dick and not him, but he’s had weirder things happen during sex than this. 

Pete doesn’t have much time to contemplate all the weird sex he’s had in his life, because Patrick is ducking down to take Pete’s dick into his luscious, pink mouth. He sucks the head between his lips, swirling his tongue just right. 

Pete whines in the back of his throat, his hands falling into Patrick’s bleached hair and tugging gently. Patrick seems to enjoy sucking his dick immensely, because he’s rutting into the bed, desperate for friction. 

Patrick takes more of him in, sucking hard enough to hollow his cheeks around Pete’s length. Patrick’s hand trails down from his stomach to thigh, and then he’s playing with Pete’s balls.

Pete moans, trying to stop himself from fucking Patrick’s face and choking him. Last he checked, that’s pretty rude. He also knows that Patrick likes being in control, and Pete finds that unbearably hot. 

Pete feels his orgasm building, heat gathering low in his belly. Patrick pulls off then, stroking Pete’s dick slowly. 

“Where’s the box with the lube and condoms?” Patrick asks, licking up the side of Pete’s cock, teasing. Pete grunts, trying to get blood to flow to his brain so he can remember the answer to the question. 

“It’s the box in the corner over there. Labeled ‘sex stuff’.” Pete gets out through gritted teeth. 

“How romantic.” Patrick laughs, biting Pete’s hip bone. Patrick gets up off the bed and opens the box, rooting around until he finds the bottle of lube and a condom.

Patrick finally takes off his boxers, sliding them down his legs and stepping out of them. Pete gets a brief glimpse of his perfect, round ass, and then Patrick is getting back on the bed and opening the lube.

Pete knows it isn’t polite to stare, but his eyes remain firmly on Patrick’s hard dick, heavy and full between his legs. Pete really, desperately wants that inside him soon. He’s so glad Patrick agrees with this sentiment. 

Patrick warms up the lube between his fingers, and then he’s in between Pete’s legs again, rubbing at his hole gently. Pete spreads his legs wider in invitation and takes a deep breath. 

Patrick slides in the first finger slowly, letting Pete adjust. Pete likes the burn of it, the edge of pain before the pleasure takes over. Pete bites his lip, and he looks down at Patrick’s face. He looks like he’s concentrating, trying to move his hand just right. After a couple of minutes, Pete’s body relaxes. 

Patrick adds a second finger, twisting his wrist in search of Pete’s prostate. Pete starts pushing back against Patrick’s ministrations, riding his hand the more desperate for release he becomes. 

Patrick slides in a third and final finger, which seems to be the magic number. After a couple of tries, he manages to find Pete’s prostate. That sweet, golden bundle of nerves that give him a rush of glorious dopamine. Pete keens with it, trying to get Patrick to keep his fingers there. 

Patrick laughs, trailing kisses up and down his thighs. 

“I think you’re ready for me.” Patrick says, his voice thick and low with sex. Pete doesn’t even need dirty talk with a voice like that.

Patrick pulls his fingers out, leaving Pete empty and gaping. He’s greedy for it now, pulling Patrick on top of him. 

Patrick goes willingly, smirking at Pete as he puts the condom on and slicks himself up. 

“You’re very eager.” Patrick taunts. Pete stares at that thick bottom lip and has to bite it. Pete doesn’t care how desperate he looks right now, he kisses Patrick again. He’s waited such a long time for this. He’s going to revel in it. 

Patrick grabs a hold of his waist, and Pete wraps his legs around Patrick’s hips and crosses them on his lower back. 

“Please, fuck me.” Pete begs. “I need it.” 

“Me too, sweetheart. I’m gonna make you feel so good.” Patrick promises, brushing Pete’s hair out of his eyes and planting another kiss on his mouth before he lines up his cock with Pete’s hole. 

Patrick pushes in, inch by agonizing inch. Pete hisses at the intrusion, but he leans into it, trying to urge Patrick to move. He’s big. Pete hasn’t done this in a while. But he still loves it just the same. Patrick is special to him, and that makes this feeling even better, stronger. 

Patrick is buried to the hilt, panting above him. Their bare chests are pressed together, skin on skin, their sweat mixing together. Pete loves the smell of sex in the air, loves the way Patrick is looking at him like he’s going to explode. 

Pete scratches at Patrick’s scalp, fucking up his hair even more. Patrick smirks at him, and then he starts to move. Their hips move in sync, one fluid, back and forth motion. Pete can’t remember the last time he was this turned on, this happy. 

His dick is throbbing between their bellies. Pete doesn’t pay it much attention, too focused on the way Patrick is impaling him on his cock. Patrick’s balls slap against his ass with each thrust, and the wet, squelching noise is highly erotic. 

Pete arches his back, bouncing back against Patrick’s dick. Patrick growls, his chest rumbling with the noise.

It makes Pete’s blood burn in his veins, he wants to hear Patrick make that noise over and over again. Pete would like to record Patrick’s sexy noises during sex, so he can keep them in his spank bank. 

“Fuck, right there. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” Pete shrieks. He is being fucked within an inch of his life, and he doesn’t care if their new neighbors know it. 

Patrick is nailing his prostate with every other thrust now, bearing down on him. His grip is tight against Pete’s hips, he’s definitely going to leave bruises. Pete thrills with just the idea of that. 

Patrick buries his face in Pete’s neck, so he can suck another hickey into his skin. Pete throws his head back and whimpers. Patrick’s hand wraps around Pete’s dick, dark and engorged with blood. 

Patrick jerks him off to the same rhythm as his hips, which is increasingly more erratic. Pete feels like he’s going to overflow with the sensations and emotions going through him. The brand new headboard bangs against the wall with every thrust now. 

Pete comes with Patrick’s name on his lips. He is surrounded with Patrick, in him, above him, the smell of his sweat, the sound of his bitten off groans and mewls.

Pete clenches around the length of Patrick’s cock like a love song, warm and tight and oh so perfect. His dick spurts between them, spilling white streaks all over their bellies, a little bit hitting Patrick’s chin. 

Patrick isn’t so much smiling as baring his teeth. He’s jutting into Pete haphazardly now, and Pete is a little oversensitive, but he wants to see Patrick come. 

Pete wipes his come off Patrick’s chin and then pushes his finger between Patrick’s lips. Patrick moans around his finger, licking it clean. Pete clenches tight around Patrick’s cock again, and that seems to do the trick. 

Patrick comes, mouth wide open in a silent scream as he humps into Pete’s body. His dick pulses, his orgasm crashing over him like a wave. He fills the condom with jizz, his eyes rolling back in his head. He collapses against Pete as he rides out the aftershocks. 

Patrick rolls off of him after a moment, and peels the condom off his soft dick and ties it. He manages to get up on shaky legs and toss it in the trash. Patrick falls back onto the bed and turns to look at him. 

“That was magical.” Pete says, dreamily. He’s sweaty and sated. He doesn’t think it gets any better than this. 

“Very.” Patrick agrees, nodding. He looks sleepy. 

“Hey, Tricky. Can I ask you a question?” Pete asks, running a hand down Patrick’s naked side. 

“You just did.” Patrick slurs into a pillow with no case on it. Pete laughs, an obnoxious, braying sound. 

“Do you wanna start a band with me?” Pete asks, earnestly. He’s asked Patrick this before, but it was a long time ago. When they first met. Pete is hoping now might be the right time. 

“A band. With you. Now?” Patrick opens his eyes and blinks at him blearily. 

“Yeah. I was thinking you could sing. Joe could play guitar. Andy could be on the drums.” Pete says this as if he’s already asked them to do it. He hasn’t. But he will if Patrick wants this as much as he does. 

“You realize how crazy this sounds, right? What are you gonna do, just quit your job?” Patrick says, exasperated.

“Well, yes. It does, and I will quit my job. But only if you’re in.” Pete gives Patrick his best puppy dog eyes. Patrick stares at him for a moment, calculating. 

“Okay. I will be in a band with you. But you have to take it seriously this time.” Patrick grumbles, but he can’t be grumpy when they’ve just had mindblowing sex and Pete is offering him a once in a lifetime opportunity. He’s also smiling at Pete, which is a dead giveaway. 

“Of course. Yes, yes, yes! Oh my God, I’m so excited, I have to call Joe and Andy.” Pete squeals, pulling Patrick into a hug. Patrick wrinkles his nose at the mess between them, sticking them together. 

“We need to shower first.” Patrick reminds him. Pete nods, and leans forward until he can kiss Patrick again.

Pete never thought he could get everything he ever wanted. He doesn’t know why he waited so long. It turns out there was nothing to be afraid of, after all.

“We’re gonna take over the_ fucking _world together, Trickalicious!” Pete yells. Patrick winces at his volume. 

“Great,” Patrick says, weakly. “But don’t get us kicked out of our new apartment, please. I’m sure we’re already gonna have a noise complaint.” Patrick huffs. 

“I don’t really care right now. We’re gonna be boyfriends in a band. A power couple!” Pete laughs, following Patrick into the shower. 

“You are so _ ridiculous. _” Patrick says, but the fond expression on his face makes Pete swoon. 

“Yeah, but you love me.” Pete teases, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s neck under the shower spray. 

“Unfortunately.” Patrick deadpans. 

Pete thinks this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership.  


**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in two days. i'm shocked i'm able to write so much lately, honestly. i'm usually super slow. but i hope you enjoy this, anyway. please suspend your disbelief of pete wentz being a firefighter. i know this idea is ridiculous. i just thought he'd be an attractive firefighter and he could save his one true love from a burning building, ok. like a modern day fairytale. but with more angst. also, i don't know shit about firefighters or their equipment. anything i do know i learned in elementary school. so, sorry to the firefighters who came and taught me fire safety as a small child. i am now using that knowledge to write gay smut and angst, apparently. 
> 
> title is from death valley by fob.
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob. send me prompts. yell about peterick. whatever floats ur boat.


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